poetry pathway chattanooga

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Almost the Way It’s Supposed To Be

By Cynthia Robinson Young

Isn’t this how it was always supposed to be?
Those who were here before we were,
could walk among these budding branches,
conversing in whispers, in communion, sharing history
we will never be silent enough to absorb or comprehend?

Isn’t this how it was supposed to be?
That these still waters, so ancient, could reflect peace
if we would just be as still?
Isn’t this how it was supposed to be?
That there would be a land where we could stand
to witness naked tree limbs reach out and grasp the afternoon sky
without structures intruding our sight line?

And that we would build these jetties is a good thing-
like this one that ends at the Tennessee River
stopping our steps so we can marvel at the expanse of water,
the gradual gradation from walnut brown to pea green to speckled silver
as we imagine who traveled across these waters, and even
what lies underneath?

But this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
My parking meter runs out before the awe of this land does,
This sanctuary saved from the chaos that is us, like
the multitude of the city’s whooshing cars
that can only imitate the sound of the flowing river
when darkness falls
and the sound of waves becomes
Invisible enough
To be imagined.

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